


Tiny Dancer

by waltzforanight



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-27
Updated: 2008-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzforanight/pseuds/waltzforanight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most part, he keeps to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiny Dancer

Murphy's is a tiny, old fashioned bar tucked in the underbelly of L.A.'s central madness. Lorne had been back on Earth for six weeks, seven hours and fourteen minutes when he'd first found it, and had been frequenting the place every Wednesday evening since. For the most part, he keeps to himself, seated on the same stool as that first night, eyes watching the other patrons without really registering them.

On his sixteenth Wednesday, Lorne finally takes notice. He looks up as the door chimes, letting in a tall man, young, dressed rather fancy for someone wandering around L.A., and he finds that he can't _stop_ looking. Lorne watches as the man looks around with purpose, takes note when the briefest flicker of disappointment falls across the man's face, follows with his eyes as the man pulls off his gloves and strides to the jukebox. It's obvious the man is looking for something particular - ah, yes, Lorne sees the flicker of accomplishment as the man finds what he's been searching for, makes his selection, then turns towards the bar.

Lorne isn't terribly surprised to be caught staring - he's out of practice with being covert. He offers the man an apologetic smile. It isn't returned, but the man continues across the bar until he sits down two seats away from Lorne and holds out his hand. "Jones. Ianto Jones."

Should have known he'd be Welsh, Lorne thinks to himself as he shakes the outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Jones Ianto Jones," he replies with a grin. "Evan Lorne."

Ianto blanches quickly, and to Lorne's surprise, takes almost an entire thirty seconds to regain his cool demeanor. When Ianto speaks again, with a polite "you as well", there is no hint of anything but composure in his voice, but Lorne thinks that Ianto's eyes are just a little bit wider than they had been a minute earlier.

"So, what brings you to LA?" he asks, waving the barman down and gesturing for two more of whatever it was he's been drinking.

"Just visiting," Ianto replies. Lorne gets the impression that there was more to it, but decides it wasn't worth asking. It isn't that he didn't care to know, only that he can tell Ianto won't answer. Instead, Lorne just nods and asks if Ianto has been to this place yet or seen that tourist-y landmark.

The conversation flows easily. They talk about anything and everything until the bar shuts down for the night. Somehow, they end up in Lorne's dingy apartment, Ianto and his immaculate apperance a shocking contrast to their surroundings. Lorne thinks to himself that perhaps it's time to invest in a nicer place, since it's abundantly clear to him that Atlantis is never going to come calling.

Lorne never offers, and Ianto never asks, yet the night turns into two and then three and then it's been six days and Ianto is still sleeping on Lorne's couch. By day, they wander L.A., visit beaches and go to the movies. Ianto's eyes search the crowd with unrelenting concentration, but he never says what he's looking for. By night, the attend outdoor concerts and watch bad sci-fi on TV.

It's four days before Lorne kisses Ianto, five before Ianto kisses Lorne, and eleven before they have sex. It's all limbs and sweat and teeth. They don't talk durring sex until the last time, a week after the first, the night before Ianto is to catch a plane back to Wales, and even then it's only a string of whispered "thank you"s in Lorne's ear.

When Lorne drives him to the airport the next morning, Ianto is quiet except for his humming. It takes five miles before Lorne places the song as the one from Murphy's jukebox and smiles. He doesn't know what significance the tune has for Ianto, but he knows who he'll be thinking of everytime he hears it from now on.

As they reach the airport and tumble out of Lorne's truck, the only nice thing he's purchased since leaving Atlantis, the humming stops. They make their way to the correct terminal, check Ianto's bags, and then stand there, face to face, neither knowing the right words to say. Finally, the boarding call comes over the speakers, and Ianto clears his throat.

"Well. Thank you," he says again, shaking Lorne's hand, who lets his fingers linger just a little bit longer than strictly necessary. Lorne just nods, says you're welcome and thank you, too, and all the other things he just doesn't have words for with a jerk of his head.

And then Ianto is walking away, leaving Lorne to stare at his retreating figure until suddenly he stops, turns around, and calls back, "You're one of my favourite military men, Colonel." With a last smile and a wave, Ianto is lost in the crowd of travelers, and Lorne just stands there, unable to work out what that last comment really meant, but knows that he's glad to hear it regardless.

"Softly. Slowly," he sings aloud, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he steps outside and walks back to his truck, the roar of an airplane engine filling his ears as it passes overhead.


End file.
